Lord Barry's Dream House (12 page)

Juliana just barely refrained from giggling. “Indeed.” She thought a few moments, then retorted, “He is as stale as mouse-eaten dry cheese?” Really, Lord Barry tempted one into indiscretions.

“We progress from scent to taste? That ought to provide a wider selection of quotes from which to choose. I must admit it is a progression I enjoy,” his lordship said with that gleam flickering in his eyes again.

Juliana wondered at that remark all the while she stood watching him across from her in the line. He was undoubtedly the most distinguished of all the gentlemen present, his London togs outstanding, yet not appearing flagrantly obvious. It was only when Henry came around that Lord Barry seemed to alter his admittedly pleasant character. Juliana could not fathom why, unless he felt that Henry was greatly beneath him, or perhaps that Henry took liberties not entitled.

At the conclusion of the dance Lord Barry led Juliana to where her mother awaited her. He murmured, “How about a Banbury cheese?”

“Odious creature,” she muttered just before they joined her mother. “Blasts and fogs upon thee.” Uncle George would be delighted with the insults Juliana was able to produce this evening.

“Only if I am deprived of your most stimulating company, my dear girl,” he said so quietly that not even Barbara could have heard him.

Juliana turned to face her mother, thinking that as yet, Lord Barry knew nothing about the Chinese dairy.

“Well,” Lady Hamilton exploded in an undertone, “what do you have to say for yourself, my girl? Not a word to me about your order from London.”

“You might have commissioned a gown for Barbara had you wished. You preferred to wait until she went to London for her come-out. Since I had no such treat in store for me, and you have repeatedly declared that Kitty will not go out into Society when you go to London, I decided that we deserved to shine just a little. I sent the order in as soon as the
date was fixed.”

Lady Hamilton, for once in her life, was speechless. “You surely do not think I shall give you a come-out at your advanced age, do you?”

“You? No, I doubt you would,” Juliana replied quietly, then accepted the hand of the Marsh eldest when he solicited her for the next Scots reel. She expected that her mother had given her nod of approval, but she would have gone regardless. Was that another example of what Lord Barry called her radical behavior? She did not feel she was a radical, rather a young woman awakening to the possible world around her. Across the room George Teynham chatted with his old adversary, Sir Phineas. “You seem extraordinarily pleased with it yourself this evening, Sir Phineas,” George said with more bonhomie than he felt.

“Indeed, indeed,” Sir Phineas said with a frown directed at his son, which seemed to belie his mood, but didn’t, for he immediately returned to that incredibly smug expression when he looked at George once again. “Work on your project going well, is it?” George said.

“Why, yes, it is, although I am surprised you ask.”

“Oh, I am an odd sort of fellow; I have an interest in a great many things. Like Kitty’s happiness, for instance. I would take a very dim view of anyone who spoiled things for her.” George gave Sir Phineas a narrow look.

“I cannot imagine who might be inclined to do such a thing,” Sir Phineas said with a trace of pomposity.

“She’s a sweet child. Stands to inherit my share of the Teynham estate, you know. Nothing entailed there, just money and a tidy estate in Kent.”

“I had no idea you were fixed so well,” Sir Phineas said, quite clearly surprised.

“I remain with my sister to keep an eye on things, and to prevent her from moving in with her son and his wife. The present Lord Hamilton does not need any interference—few young folks do, if you ask me.”

“Radical lot, most of them,” Sir Phineas countered. “Cannot understand why they do not respect the past more than they do.” He looked to where his son walked along the far edge of the room, escorting Kitty to refreshments.

“I take it you refer to Gothic design. If I want to be surrounded by a church, I’ll go to one. Don’t want to live in I one,” George grumbled. “Gloomy places, most of ’em. Can’t think how they manage a drapery at those windows.”

Sir Phineas took umbrage at that remark and fired a parting shot at his old adversary. “Well, I shall complete my house long before your niece manages to finish that bland classical thing she works away at. Heard rumors about it. True that the carpenters all left?” He smirked and took a step from George, seeming intent upon the refreshment table.

George placed a firm hand on his foe’s sleeve. “If anyone should know about it, you should. We are more aware of I things than you might expect,” he said with a hint of menace in his voice. “Smell something unpleasant, Phineas?”

Sir Phineas had worn—most briefly—a startled look, his nostrils flaring in just such a manner as to believe he did, indeed, detect an offensive odor. “Rubbish,” he replied before stalking off in the direction of his son.

“Rubbish? Well, that might be it,” George said reflectively to the ceiling.

“Talking to yourself, Uncle George? Is that not a sign of old age? Heavens, do not allow that to be nosed about!” Juliana crowed with delight, for she and her uncle enjoyed baiting one another. “Is there a disagreeable odor? I thought you said something about rubbish.” Juliana looked about, sniffing the air.

“Just something that antiquarian said before he left. I do not trust that fellow. He’s a villain with a smiling cheek,” he said, borrowing a line from Shakespeare.

“We know,” Juliana murmured. “I have not told Lord Barry about that Chinese dairy as yet. I begin to think he might just approve the design. ’Tis a pity I am such a coward, for I quail at the thought of presenting it to him. I imagine I might be cast as just such a villain for not revealing the whole of it to him.”

“It is forbidden to be so serious at a ball. I have it on excellent authority,” Lord Barry said as he joined them.

“We discuss a man over whom lingers an ominous aroma of something rotten,” George said with a final look to see if Sir Phineas had intruded upon his son and Kitty. He hadn’t.

“I can see that you two are related,” Barry said with an amused glance at Juliana.

“I said nothing,” she said defensively. “Indeed, this is the silliest stuff ever I heard,” she concluded, borrowing yet another of her uncle’s lines.

“Come along and show me which of the delicacies on the table are most apt to please me,” Lord Barry insisted, taking Juliana by the hand as he spoke.

She found his touch irresistible. Even through her gloves, and his, she could feel the firm warmth of his hand, the almost comforting sensation, when comfort ought to be the last thing associated with the man who could send her into tingly shivers without half trying.

“You are certainly a determined sort of fellow,” she complained in jest.

“However”—he turned to look down into her eyes with that gleam in residence again—“do you know, I usually obtain precisely what I wish.”

“Of that I have little doubt,” she confessed with a rush. “You strike me as quite capable of anything.”

“I shall remember that at some future and advantageous moment,” he murmured.

“The lobster patties,” she said after clearing an unexpected obstruction in her throat. “And try the
mélange
of fruit. Cook has a sherry sauce for it that is delicious.”

“Delicious,” he repeated.

Juliana would have sworn he was deliberately trying to disconcert her. If truth be known, he was doing an excellent job of it. To divert his attention from her, she said, “I wonder what has happened to Henry this evening? He promised to come, yet he is not here.”

Edmund glanced about him. He had observed that Scott hadn’t attended the ball and been perversely pleased at the absence of the man he could not quite like.

“Foul play, perhaps?” He cursed himself as thoughtless when he saw the alarm that leaped into her eyes. Their color deepened to a stormy blue, and she touched his arm with a trembling hand.

“Do you think that likely?”

“Of course not. Perhaps he was waylaid by something important. It must be to keep him from here.” His defense of his rival earned him a tremulous smile, most heartfelt, it seemed. Drat the fellow, how could Scott hope to claim the lovely Juliana when she was so far above him? Then Edmund realized that if Juliana truly cared for this chap, she would never permit a thing like rank to come between her and the one she loved. It was a most lowering thought.

There was a stir across the room by the door as someone came in to greet Lady Hamilton.

At Edmund’s side Lady Juliana peered around a stout lady with a plumed headdress to see who it was. She leaned against Edmund until she identified the newcomer.

“Henry is come at long last. Now we shall find out what was so important.” The relief in her voice was unmistakable as she took a step away.

Edmund found for the first time in his life that he would delight in punching out a chap just because he pleased a lady. It was a distinctly odd feeling.

Henry wound his way around the room, searching all the while as he went. Edmund had little doubt who
was sought. Obstinately, he detained her at his side with a flow of small talk, even though she answered absently.

“There you are,” she declared with relief when Henry drew near. “I worried about you. I see I need not have, for you—” Then she noticed what Edmund had seen as soon as Scott drew close; the man looked gray and haggard.

“
What is it?” Her voice was not sharp, but it might have been, for her concern was clear.

“There has been an accident at the house,” Henry said, oblivious to Edmund’s presence.

Juliana was not to that point, and she shot Henry a warning look that Edmund did not miss.

H
enry ignored it. “Someone tampered with the scaffolding. It collapsed late this afternoon.”

“How bad is it?” Juliana asked, her hand going to her lips in a gesture of fear of what she might
hear.

“
One man was killed, two others badly injured.”

It was a stark declaration, which made it all the more frightful.

“
How terrible!” she whispered, looking across the room to where Sir Phineas complacently chatted with Lady Hamilton, “I think he has slipped over the edge to madness. Surely no sane man would do such things.”

“He does advance his cunning more and more,” Uncle George quoted. “Indeed, he is deep, hollow, treacherous, and full of guile.”

“Surely you cannot mean a guest is behind the accident,” Edmund said.

“I fear it was no accident, my lord,” Henry Scott said in a low voice. “I went over the scaffolding later with one of the men, and we found decided evidence of tampering. It was deliberate.”

Lady Juliana swiftly put a handkerchief to her face to muff
l
e her cry of outrage and stem the tears that threatened to flow. “The black-hearted villain!”

“Indeed, he is that. But to prove it is another matter,” Uncle George said with a narrow look at his foe.

“Aye, he is a clever devil,” Henry Scott added.

“Are you discussing Sir Phineas?” Edmund asked, amazed that the three could blame a guest with such a dastardly deed.

“I think I told you he was up to no good,” Lady Juliana said, her eyes troubled. “I hope this does not mean more serious setbacks.”

“What else could happen?” Edmund demanded.

The others merely looked at him and shook their heads.

Chapter
Eleven

“Perh
aps we should discreetly move to another room?” Edmund suggested. “The library, perhaps?”

“If all of us go at once, there may be raised brows. They might jump to all manner of conclusions,” Juliana declared with a dry tone.

“Now, Juliana,” George admonished, shaking his head.

“I shall go with Mr. Scott first,” Edmund said quietly. “That should cause no comment, for it is known he collaborates on my home. We can appear in deep conversation. Then Juliana and Mr. Teynham can leave shortly after we go and seem to go a different direction—at first.”

“Hurry. Kitty and Peregrine approach. No matter what, I would not say anything against his father when he is present.” Lady Juliana made shooing motions with her fan, then turned to greet her sister and Peregrine Forsythe.

Edmund led the way, although he suspected that Henry Scott was far more familiar with his house than he was. It was difficult not to like the chap, for he was an able, willing worker. He was also dashed clever, from everything Edmund had seen at the house. The last few days, when he had become more involved with the building, he had seen numerous instances when Henry had stepped in to solve a problem, displaying a sound knowledge of construction.

But Edmund found he could not like that attachment he detected between Lady Juliana and Henry Scott. Although, given her innocent response to that kiss, it was unlikely their relationship had gone far. Still, it was unsuitable—most unsuitable. Perhaps while he was in London with Juliana, Edmund might convince her to forget about her country swain.

He smiled wryly. It should not be so very difficult to accomplish. She needed to be reminded of her position as an earl’s daughter and a member of Society. She owed it to her family to marry well. Perhaps he might even suggest some worthy gentleman—once he became more acquainted with Society—a peer who would not mind a progressive female.

“Here we are,” Henry said, jogging Edmund from his preoccupation.

They entered the library where a low fire burned even on this mild evening. The masculine aroma of leather-bound books and very old sherry permeated the air. A comfortable
-
looking leather armchair sat behind the desk, and Edmund wondered if Juliana worked on the building plans in here. A branch of candles stood off to one side on the desk, ready for lighting.

Henry went about the business of bringing light to the room, finding another branch of candles on a table nearby. Soon the room glowed with a mellow light, striking glints on the gold tooling that graced the book bindings.

Within minutes, and before Edmund and Henry could have any meaningful conversation, Juliana peeped around the corner, then swiftly entered, followed by George Teynham, a grave expression on his face.

Not bothering with preliminaries, George plunged ahead. “When I spoke with Sir Phineas a short time ago, he indicated that he would have his Gothic pile completed long before Juliana had finished what he called her bland classical thing. He looked quite startled when I hinted that we knew who was responsible for the carpenters being lured away, not to mention all the other happenings at the house.”

“You missed one,” Juliana quietly inserted. “I have not had a chance to tell you about what happened earlier.”

At George’s inquiring look, Edmund said, “Someone placed some extremely pungent cheese atop the coal in the furnace, so when it was stoked, the nasty smell went throughout the house.”

“
We dashed madly about opening windows to air the place out,” Juliana added. The brief look she flashed at Edmund was revealing—to him, for it was clear she recalled what occurred in that last room as vividly as did he. The hint of pink that suddenly bloomed on her cheeks gave her away.

If anyone had happened on them, it would, have meant marriage, for one did not trifle with the daughter of an earl
—
even if she was a progressive chit. While she was not the sort of wife he sought, he reminded himself, she was an extremely taking lass. Memory of how well she fit in his arms and how ardently she had returned his kiss—yet with her innocence revealed—clung in his mind. He wished that memory would go away. He found it disconcerting to be close to her. He kept wanting to repeat the experience, and that way lay trouble.

“A smell might be annoying, but it ain’t serious,” George said. “The scaffolding catastrophe is a far different matter. A man was killed. We must find a way to implicate the person we feel certain is behind all this—Sir Phineas. But how?”

“Is there some way we can lure him to the spot, so that one of us can actually catch him at his foul deeds?” Edmund asked.

“He always has contrived to have another do his dirty work,” Henry said with a wry look. “We have a fair idea as to whom that might be, for he tends to use the same man—less danger of detection that way. The fewer who know about it, the better, is undoubtedly his motto.”

“Unless
...
” Juliana mused.

“Unless what?” Edmund asked, wondering what had been going on inside that lovely head. According to accepted ideas, women were not supposed to be creative thinkers. Juliana gave the lie to all such notions. A lesser man would be intimidated by her intelligence. Edmund thought it stimulating and challenging—if annoying at times.

“Unless ... we might contrive to have him think he has a chance of taking over the house in the event there is one more accident. And let him know that we
have
pegged the helper he has used in the past. Then
he
will be forced to do whatever wretched thing he intends.” She looked to the others to gauge their reaction to her suggestion.

Edmund spoke first. “It seems to have merit. Sir Phineas strikes me as a vain man, one who would think he could dispose of any evidence with no danger of being caught. And he will never yield on the notion that his Gothic designs are superior to the classical.”

“True,” George agreed, rubbing his jaw while he considered Juliana’s proposal.

“I believe Juliana has the right of it,” Henry said slowly. “There is no way we can hope to hush up the scaffolding disaster. Sir Phineas will soon learn of his success if he does not know now. I think a word casually slipped into his ear by Uncle George would be all that is required. For he must think that the scaffolding collapse would be the final straw for Lord Barry.” Henry gave Edmund a cautious look, as though fearful he might have given him an idea he’d not had until now.

“If I did not know about his involvement, I would believe you guilty of gross negligence,” Edmund inserted.

“Perhaps we ought to have Lord Barry be the one to drop the hint,” Juliana suddenly declared. “It would be logical. He would certainly have reason to be angry with us if he believed us blameworthy.”

George and Henry exchanged long looks, then slowly nodded agreement.

“True,” Henry murmured.

“So be it,” George said, moving toward the door. “The sooner, the better. I know his lordship wants to have his house completed, and we will be glad for it as well. It will go much quicker without all these demmed calamities.”

Henry and Juliana nodded fervently, clearly recalling the delays and frustrations they had encountered.

“We are so close to completion now,” Juliana said as they left the library. “Details and finishing like the flooring, trim, and the like are what remain. True, they do take time, but errors are costly both in time and materials, and lengthen the process. We are at least two months behind our schedule because of all of Sir Phineas’s little schemes. Trying to regain lost time is not my favorite pastime. We want this project concluded.”

Edmund found that while he was anxious to move into his home, he had mixed feelings about ending his association with Lady Juliana Hamilton. She might not be the most proper English lady around, but she was dashed desirable. What a quandary—to be attracted to a lady he didn’t want for a wife, yet one he must not dally with.

He moved ahead of the others and down the hall, intent upon his quarry. When he spotted Peregrine where he chatted with Lady Katherine, he paused. “Do you know where your father is?”

“I last saw him speaking to Lady Hamilton, over there.”

At Peregrine’s gesture, Edmund immediately espied Sir Phineas conversing in apparent amiability with his hostess. He immediately strolled in that direction, pausing to chat with the Plunkets, admiring Lady Titchfield’s plumed headdress, before at last facing the man who sought to gain his patronage in a most monstrous manner.

“Charming ball, Lady Hamilton. I have enjoyed meeting so many of my future neighbors,” Edmund said, bowing low over her hand. Then he turned to the man at her side. “Good evening, Sir Phineas. I trust you are well?” He carefully drew his prey away from Lady Hamilton, for he did not wish to malign her daughter within her hearing. His ploy worked well, for Lady Plunket claimed her hostess’s attention immediately.

“I am, but may I say you look a trifle downpin?” Sir Phineas replied, a gleam that could only be sparked by malice lighting his eyes.

“Well, the news has been dreadful. Perhaps you have heard that there was an accident at the house late today? After we left, a scaffolding collapsed.”

“How so?” Sir Phineas said, although his attempt to look sympathetic fell short of the mark.

“They said it may have been put together incorrectly.” Edmund exchanged a meaningful look with the older architect and noted the satisfaction that flashed in his eyes.

“What a pity,” Sir Phineas said with false compassion.

“However, I heard Henry Scott tell Mr. Teynham that he had a good notion of the chap responsible. Should that fellow come near, he will be spotted immediately and dealt with, you may be sure.”

“Indeed?” Sir Phineas looked alarmed for a moment, until that bland facade slipped over his face again.

“Still, a man was killed. I cannot tolerate such happenings. Should another accident—however small—occur again, I believe I shall seek a new architect to complete the house.”

“Really?” Sir Phineas looked as though he was mentally rubbing his hands together with glee.

“Indeed,” Edmund said in a grave manner. “Sad. I rather like that chap, Henry Scott. Lady Juliana seems most capable, as well.”

“But a woman!” Sir Phineas declared in affront. “A woman has no business building a house—even completing one half finished. She should have called on someone else—like me
—
to finish the job.”

“Quite so,” Edmund said blandly. “Good evening to you, sir,” he concluded, then strolled off across the room to seek Lady Barbara’s hand for a country dance.

Sir Phineas left immediately.

Juliana stood with Uncle George and Henry on the far side of the room, just inside the door from the hall leading to the library. They looked at each other, wondering precisely what had been said to provoke such prompt action.

“Henry,” Juliana said after a moment, “you have not danced with me this evening. May we?”

“I have no heart for dancing, what with the death of that fellow on my mind. He was a good man.” Henry bestowed an angry look at Juliana that had her inwardly cringing.

“True, and you think just as you ought. But people will wonder if you remain propping up the wall. Do you wish gossip so soon?”

“Let them say what they please. If you want to dance, ask Lord Barry.” Henry gave George a bitter look, then turned away and left the house.

“I must seem a frippery sort,” Juliana said, much chastened by what Henry had said.

“How many balls have you attended in your young life? There is
naught you can do about the death this evening,” George counseled. “Tomorrow you can visit his family, offer assistance, do what is necessary. Nothing you do this evening can alter what has happened.”

“Well,” Juliana said, most subdued, “of course I shall do as you say on the morrow. Perhaps I had best retire?”

“That would give rise to gossip of the worst sort. Best put a brave face on and seek out his lordship. Maybe he will tell you precisely what he said to Sir Phineas. I vow I should like to know.”

“Very well,” Juliana said dutifully. Her heart was no longer happy with the thought of dancing, but she itched to know what had sent Sir Phineas off like a shot.

“La, Juliana, you look far too serious for a ball,” Barbara chided when she found her sister at her side at the conclusion of the country dance. But then, Barbara was quite unaware of the bad news. She looked happily about her and at the gentleman who approached to take her hand for the next dance. “If this be a taste of what London has to offer, I cannot wait to go. Are you not sorry you went without a Season? I do not know how you could give it up, just to build a house.” She ignored Lord Barry, apparently not recalling that it was his house that was the cause of the abandonment of Juliana’s come-out plans.

“I need to speak with Lord Barry. Sir?” Juliana clutched her fan before her, ignoring her sister’s anticipation for the Season to come and her remark about Juliana’s lack of a Season. It was a sore point with her.

The rose of Juliana’s gown reflected needed color to her face, for her worry could not be concealed and she was paler than normal.

“Perhaps we could sit out the next dance, a
boulanger
, if I make no mistake,” Lord Barry concluded at the opening strains of the music.

“That is most agreeable,” Juliana replied. Although she had longed to dance with him once again, she found herself quite content to merely talk.